Mind Numbing

Is it 4:30 yet?

So much of my day is spent staring at the clock, begging the little hand to hit the four and the big hand to hit the 6. Does this make me a bad employee?

This phenomenon is particularly severe on Friday. I wonder how long it would take me to dread Friday like I currently do, say Tuesday for example, if I changed work schedules to have Tuesday and Wednesday off.

I ate crab and shrimp stuffed raviolli for lunch. It was pretty great.

My kids are pretty much the best things on this planet. I would trade one nonsense conversation with my son about what Connor said to Ms. Heather today at naptime for just about anything. Why? Because he's my son. I don't care what your kid did today (except you, Dad). Parents love their kids. They tolerate yours.

I'm learning to play guitar. I currently suck at it. I can play all of 3 songs without a Capo and another 5-6 with one. I can't exactly figure out what to do with the pick. I keep getting in the way of myself. When I get to where I can hold my own with it, the number of instruments I can play, at least basically, will be up to 5. My goal is 8. Maybe I should wait till I'm great at one to be average at 8. Maybe you should mind your own business.

Still don't like Chinese food. I can manage to eat here occasionally, but only rarely and when I'm specifically in the mood.

Oh, and don't give me crap if you love Chinese food. I don't care if you do. I personally don't.

I'm pretty good at this journalism thing. So the blog isn't great. My writings that I spend a little time on are damn good. That doesn't make me arrogant, it makes me confident.

I'm also a decent musician. I play, write, and arrange much better than someone should who came from a high school music program as pathetic as mine was. Problematic, because I can't decide if I want to be a musician or journalist. I guess I could be a music journalist, but then I'd have to listen to mainstream music (read: crappy crap that's made by crappy musicians who crap out music that sounds like crap), and I don't want to (a) write column after column about why hacks like Brittany Simpson and Lindsay Aguilera are single-handedly ruining music by dumbing down the industry with their popcorn crap and cookie cutter songs that the American public turn into multi-platinum hits or (b) lie to you and tell you I like any of it.

Remember when musicians played instruments?

(Editorial note: for more on this, see the post titled 'Revival.')

Ok, that's all for now. Coming next time, an undercover investigation into the allegations that I'm overwatering my yard in an attempt to make it look nicer than my pretentious neighbors.

Only 2 hours and 28 minutes to go. Hang in there, Chris. Time flies when you're having fun.

Never mind. We're screwed.